Aidan Undercover is now a Trilogy!

Several months ago, I wrote a novella titled Where There’s Smoke, about a rookie undercover dick. The young Aidan Williamson, on the trail of a killer, finds a unique “mountain man” at the base of the demon’s penis, aka Devil’s Point in Scotland’s Highlands.

In a crude stone hut, he and Logan find something about each other that rises beyond a passing fascination. The meeting also sparks an author to continue their story… One novella becomes three… A fascination becomes the focus of a real love story.

Amazon has just published the Aidan Undercover trilogy on its own unique page. Check it out! Each novella is around 30K words (70 pages), fast and furious and full of unusual action.

From the current promo:

🌈🕵️‍♂️🔥 Under the skirts of her majesty: AIDAN UNDERCOVERis a three-novella series about mystery, mayhem, and romance.

WHERE THERE’S SMOKE: Fire plays a part in this first mystery, as rookie detective Aidan Williamson finds something that makes him give up cigars and start sleeping in a verra hard place.

DEEP FURY… It’s both a brand of lube and an attitude. Aidan finds just enough about Victoria’s Secret to be nervous ahead of the Queen’s annual visit—and enough about his own needs to start seeing in the dark.

SPILLED PASSION… Passion takes many forms. Lust, love, jealousy, hate, fear—all can spill out when we least expect. What we leave behind in our most emotional moments may separate a man from a beast, a father from a son, or a lustful man from a dedicated lover.

Spilled Passion is now published!

In this concluding novella of the Aidan Undercover series, the adventures of a young constable-turned-detective take him closer to home than ever before. From the blurb:

Aidan Williamson has been plucked from his routine constable life to the harrowing existence of an undercover detective, damn near under the skirts of Her Majesty the Queen. His first two cases have taken him to places close to Balmoral Castle, where she and her retinue are set to stay for the summer.

This case is no different.

From a bothy—a stone hut—below Devil’s Point to Queen Vic’s old “Widow’s House,” the killing field seems to grow closer to home as the Queen’s holiday grows nearer. Now a body has been uncovered in the same place the royal party is set to visit soon. And Police Scotland is not amused.

Enter Aidan, rookie dick, who’s struggling to confront his demons—and his angels too. Who’s the killer? A pillar of the local church…a couple of horny adolescents…a protective kinsman of the dead man’s wife…or the sweet widow herself?

This time around, the edges are blurred more than ever, as mystery spills over into verra hot romance.

I hope you’ll enjoy this one, readers—a mystery turned love story.

Soon enough, Amazon will put it on the same series page as its companions. For now, the links are:

Aidan Williamson is good-looking young constable, smarter than most, in a Highlands village named Ballater. That tiny hamlet rubs elbows with Balmoral Castle, the Queen’s annual summer retreat. And Police Scotland is getting nervous…

In the novella Where There’s Smoke, Aidan is plucked from his day job and offered a position as undercover sergeant detective for the CID, Scotland’s version of, um, Scotland Yard-cum-MI5. His first adventure takes him on an exhausting trek to Devil’s Point, where a young hiker has been killed. It’s also where he meets Kenneth Logan.

The sequel Deep Furybegins the morning after the night before. Here’s the Introduction:

A mystery to make the Queen blush…

With the Queen due for her annual visit to Balmoral Castle, Constable Aidan Williamson has been transformed overnight into an undercover detective. He’s managed to emerge from his first case (Where There’s Smoke) with only a bullet wound and a few other scars no one can see.

This time around, he’s in the close company of three murder suspects—a writer’s publicist, a widowed husband, and a hot Scot who’s their paid guide. And this time he has two assets. One is his old constable partner Mike Murphy, mad Irishman. The other is Logan, another smoking-hot Scot, who always seems to catch Aidan off guard but always has his back.

At the Widow’s House of Queen Victoria on a lake in the Highlands…and in his own private life…there’s a smoldering deep fury at work, and Aidan’s determined to get to the bottom of it.

Postscript: Deep Fury is also a brand of lube, one I invented in a previous novel called The Chase. So of course, I have a good time playing with those words, and with some verra interesting men.

The blog article right before this one (“Book Burning”) contains an excerpt from the work, one that got me into Facebook Jail for a while. Find it here: https://bit.ly/2XAR9qn

Anyway, without further fanfare, I give you Aidan Undercover 2, available at the venues of all the usual suspects.

Where There’s Smoke is now live!

Those who’ve read Sleeping with Danger, the fourth and latest Nevada Highlander novel, will no doubt remember Aidan Williamson—the young, tousle-haired, competent, and smart constable in a tiny Police Scotland office in Ballater.

In that novel, he rushes to what he thinks is the aid of Rory and Alex, only to find that they’ve blown off his help and have stirred up a hornet’s next. And he’s deeply pissed.

Far from a cartoon, Aidan is a stand-out cop, much more so than he realizes. In my newest work, he takes center stage. The Chief Inspector calls on him for an important undercover assignment, as Sergeant Detective in the UK’s prestigious Criminal Investigation Department.

Here’s the intro to the novella:

Aidan Williamson, just another Police Scotland constable in a tiny Highlands hamlet, is plucked from his routine life into a case of murder most foul. Still wincing from the wounds of a recent separation, Aidan keeps his emotional life tucked in his trousers, out of sight. Until he encounters Kenneth Logan—a man in self-isolation at Devil’s Point. There’s a secret buried in those soul-deep eyes.

How long before the rookie detective gives in to his almost sensual attraction to all that’s profoundly mystifying? And who will survive the killing field in a place Scots call The Demon’s Penis?

The novel is a police procedural…but (“big but,” as the CI would say)…the reclusive Logan is a force to reckon with, and not just his size. Aidan’s attraction to him is strong, and immediate. Here are two different promos I’ll be running, and maybe you ‘ll get the idea.

Yes, he’s built like the proverbial brick house. And Aidan appreciates a well put together case, um, individual…

I like this novella (around 30K words, so not too brief), and I hope you, the reader, will too. If the response warrants, this will be the start of a series I’ll call “Aidan Undercover.”

Here are your sales links, and thanks for your interest in the writing of Erin O’Quinn.

What’s the spark that started the fire?

This is the second in a series, my retrospective on how Erin O’Quinn’s men first met.

“The Gaslight Mysteries” is a five-novel series starring a hard-fisted, hard-drinking Irishman named Michael McCree; and a surly, angry PI named Simon Hart. The tag line for this best-selling series is“Gay Retro with a Twist.”

These two men, unlikely mates, take five novels to “come together,” in every way. The series is full of fun, cat-and-mouse sexual tension, and “retro” atmosphere.

Michael’s life began all over again on Monday. The rain that had been threatening for weeks finally banged Dun Linden with bare fists just as dawn broke, pummeling and pounding, leaving everyone a little off balance. Setting the banner line for the day’s newspaper edition, he’d looked up from the linotype into the most arresting pair of eyes he’d ever seen. They were soulful and tormented, of a color somewhere between teal and turquoise, like a rare metal seen once in a lifetime. Or an undiscovered ocean on the edge of a wet dream. He stared in spite of himself at the man behind the eyes.

He was tall—all of six feet, almost as tall as Michael. A black felt bowler hat covered his hair. But Michael knew it had to be as dark as the eyebrows and the growing shadow around his upper lip and chin. Had the man even slept last night? The mouth itself was sulky, arrogant, almost angry.

Michael’s cock set up a slow hammering beneath the stiff leather apron.

He grinned and shifted a wooden match between his teeth. “’Tis help ye need, now?”

Under a fine woolen greatcoat, invitingly open, the man was wearing an impeccably smooth silk brocade jacket, with a neck scarf to reflect the unusual blue of his eyes.

“Yes.” His voice was as clipped and rude as his mouth. “You may place this obituary in the newspaper. And you may insert an advert as well.”

I may, may I? Maybe I’ll insert something else, lad. To himself, Michael mimicked the other’s tone of voice. He knew the man had been educated at a few up-yer-arse schools, probably Eton, then Cambridge. He barely moved his mouth when he articulated every syllable. Here was a man who wouldn’t know a back-alley expression if it slid up his bunghole.

But Simon’s impression of that first meeting, as one would expect from a closeted man, is a world apart.

When Simon meets Michael…Thin as Smoke(May 1, Beltane, 1924: a year later. From Simon’s pov, ch 2, “A New Client”

He’d awakened yesterday with the instant knowledge it was Beltane eve. An anniversary of sorts. A date his new partner had obliquely referred to several times as though it called for some kind of romantic celebration. Their first meeting, in the newspaper shop.

Simon still had a hard time piecing together those fevered days one year ago after he’d discovered the murdered body of his business partner. Try as he might, he could not remember even dressing on that long-ago morning, much less composing an obit notice and an advert for a new flat-mate. Had he perhaps slept in his suit and greatcoat? It was possible. What he did remember was the rain. After weeks of unnatural drought, the deluge seemed to be wreaking punishment on saint and sinner alike.

Has it really been one entire year? He remembered taking his Bushmills bottle to bed each night for several days after he found Sargent sprawled across the surface of their old mahogany desk. He’d avoided the flat they’d shared, seeking the knotted bedding at his gentleman’s club where his old friend’s ghost was a little dimmer. He later remembered the cheeky fellow in the New Dawn anteroom because the bastard had extorted a prince’s ransom for his newspaper’s services and had the gall to pound on his door a few days later to extract even more.

For Simon, Beltane eve was the day he’d tried to soak the blood of his foxhole friend from a desk blotter. And Beltane was not the day he’d met Michael McCree. It was the day he’d set down another man’s death in indelible India ink.

Erin O’Quinn’s Nevada Highlander series is unique: M/M adventure from Nevada to Scotland, with an emphasis on action, plot, and character.

I’m always careful to make each novel a stand-alone, appealing to the reader who comes across the series maybe somehere in the middle and wants to jump in without a lot of prior reading. In that spirit, the opening chapters of each successive story will contain enough background that anyone can easily understand the present one.

Here’s a thumbnail of the series:

Nevada Highlander: A big game hunt in the mountains of Nevada attracts two opposite men:A Scottish tourist—handsome playboy Rory Drummond—and shy, serious Nevada State Trooper Alex Dominguez, the man set on his tail to keep him in line. When the two men find each other irresistible, sparks and Levi’s fly!

The Kilt Complex: Ex-cop Alex finds himself on the cold shore of the North Sea, festering in the “boy toy” role of his well-meaning lover Rory. When Alex breaks out of the mold, declaring his own identity, both men find themselves embroiled in a case of extortion and murder—one that will test their new relationship to the max.

Hunter’s Point:The former Nevada cop is now a Police Scotland special constable. On the eve of Scotland’s passing its same-sex marriage bill, Rory and Alex have more pressing matters to confront: a drowned local teacher, an evil shadow from Rory’s past, and a killer who’s targeted both of them. The drama plays out on a stretch of lonely, beautiful land where only the fittest will survive.

Sleeping with Danger:When Rory and Alex find their ideal getaway—a remote aerie in the Highlands—they also find a few devils have poked leathery wings into their heaven in the form of kidnapping, extortion, and murder most foul. On the trail of a missing man, they find a Jacobite tower hiding recent violence…a 300-year-old elbow of the devil…and a graveyard whose crumbling bones cover old secrets worth killing for.

Through each book, the relationship between the Scot and the cop is both the fuse and the bomb, as each story explodes in passion and heart-rattling action.

In this latest novel, an old friend of Rory’s father is missing. The Scot and his constable lover gain permission to go to the Highlands juristiction of Police Scotland to search for him. What they find is chilling; and what happens to them nearly costs them their lives.

Here’s an explicit excerpt from an early chapter, on the verge of their trip…

Using the edges of the tub, he hauled himself out of the soapy water and stood looking down at his kneeling companion. “Lie back, Rory. And face me. Now.”

He could not explain a sudden need to take this dominant man, make him shout until he was hoarse.

“Is that an order, Alejo?”

“Si, cabrón.”

Rory’s mustache lifted under an evil smile. “Gang warily.”

The Drummond Clan cry, the one Rory had directed to be engraved on their rings. Go carefully.

They rarely fucked in the missionary position—mainly because Rory was usually too impatient to turn him on his ass instead of his belly. Also because the big guy invariably struggled for dominant position.

But tonight Alex was a beast. He was willing to crack the goddamn marble tub to get his way.

“A highland fuck, Rory. Legs up. A ride to the peak.”

He saw the smolder in the man’s sea-green eyes, knew him well enough to sense the moment of surrender.

He knelt between Rory’s raised thighs and leaned into his mouth. His prick knew the way well enough, below the swollen testes, past the taint, into the cumberland gap, up the trail of tears…

He timed his tongue-sucks with his measured thrusts. Once or twice he pulled away from the open mouth to watch the face, the way his partner’s glazed-over eyes rolled back…loving the slack of his jaw, the grunts of desire, the chipped-flint of his nipples.

When he could not hold back, when Rory’s tunnel began to buck and shiver and jump, when he heard the guttural bellow of his lover’s release, he came in a cascade of hot need.